


I'll miss you in the morning sun

by TwoBladeBae



Category: One Piece
Genre: Funeral Mention, Grieving, M/M, death mention, grieving whitebeard pirates, izou is in pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2020-12-16 19:13:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21041330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwoBladeBae/pseuds/TwoBladeBae
Summary: "He hoped his words sounded better than they felt. He hoped his voice didn’t shake as much as he thought it did. He had tried so hard not to cry all day; but knowing how much Izo had loved the other man, how much love that was held between them. Thatch spent hours gushing about his boyfriend, especially in the kitchen, to the point the other cooks knew Izo almost better than anyone.The fourth division was intimately familiar with Izo, the same way the sixteenth division was with Thatch."The crew struggles to grieve after Thatch's death, but it's Izo that took it the hardest of all.





	1. Chapter 1

The ship was way too quiet, and Marco hated it. 

He hated when the crew was in grief like this. They hadn’t lost a crew member in so long; even further, they hadn’t lost a crew member to the hands of another member in quite a long time. Not since Marco had been around, and he really doubted that it had happened before that, either. 

But they had. And they had to deal with the aftermath whether they liked it or not. 

The kitchen was especially quiet today, as the fourth division mourned the loss of their commander and fellow chef. None of them had even touched his locker yet. They refused to go near it, no one wanted to touch their friend’s items, as if worried he would awaken and find them rooting through his things. They wondered how they would prepare meals without his guidance and optimism. They had to cook; but they knew it wouldn’t taste the same. 

Ace and Haruta were nowhere to be found. Normally they would be in the galley, bugging their friend for a taste of whatever was being prepared for their next meal. If not there, they could be seen playing games on the deck, or even training together on particularly warm days, even dragging Thatch out of the kitchen to join them. Sometimes they would just goof off and enjoy each other’s company; testing Ace’s devil fruit to its limits. Marco distinctly remembered catching them trying to cook food on the man’s freckled bicep; the only reason they hadn’t been stopped was the knowledge that at least one of them would eat the experiments in the end, so it wasn’t truly wasted, was it? The three of them were nearly inseparable. 

But now they were. 

Of course, Pops had taken the hit harder than anyone. He’d lost a child. One of his beloved sons. His entire reason for being; his reason for becoming a pirate captain in the beginning. All he’d ever wanted was a family, and now he was forced to mourn the death of one, and the loss of another. He was furious with Teach, disappointed beyond belief. The man wasn’t even sure there were words to describe how angry he was. But Teach had still been one of his sons. Whitebeard was in mourning for not just one, but two of his children. 

He’d cradled Thatch’s limp, bloodied body in his hands the morning he was discovered, crying silently over his lifeless form. He was the one to let his body over into the sea. There was no way they’d make it to land soon enough for a burial; a funeral at sea was what he would have wanted anyway. Marco wasn’t sure how long the man had sat at the railing and stared out at the waves when the ceremony had finished. Hours, he guessed, by the way the nurses had fussed over him as they tried to get him to return to his room. 

He finally did, but not without a last glance out at where he had let his son go. 

Out of everyone, however, there was one crewmate he was worried the most about. 

His footsteps were too loud against the wood of the deck as he made his way towards the commanders quarters, blue eyes turned down at the floor. He hadn’t seen his friend all afternoon. Wasn’t even sure he’d seen him since the funeral. 

Approaching the man’s bedroom, he noticed two bodies huddled together near the doorway. Two bodies he recognized right away as the missing goofballs from the deck. So this is where they’d been all afternoon. 

“Ace, Haruta…” Marco kept his voice soft, hands in his pockets as he stopped just a short distance from his brothers. “Has he left his room at all today?”

The older man shook his head, usually rosy cheeks gone pale under his freckles. He had a curtain of dark brown waves covering his eyes, his arms wrapped tightly around the smaller frame of the twelfth division commander. 

“No. There was a lot of crashing, and I’ve heard crying but we’ve been sitting here all day...he hasn’t left.” Ace pulled his lower lip under his teeth, trying to keep it from quivering once again. He wasn’t even sure he had any tears left to shed. “I was too afraid to go in.” 

Marco gave a small nod, turning back to the door and letting out a sigh. It was up to him, he supposed. He brought one hand up, gently rapping against the wood with his knuckles and clearing his throat. 

“Izo?” He slid his hand down, gently closing his fingers around the cool metal of the doorknob. “Are you in there?” He tested the door, turning the knob slowly and giving a soft push. The door gave way and he was able to take a step inside. 

He had been inside the man’s room a few times before, and it was just as you would expect. Clean, organized, decorated tastefully with belongings from his home country, things he was so proud of, and cared so deeply for. 

This bedroom did not look like it belonged to Izo. 

The room was a mess. It was clear he’d taken his feelings out on everything he owned; ceramics shattered against the walls, clothes and paperwork alike strewn across the floor, books and fragile decorations knocked from shelves. Marco’s heart ached for the man. 

He stepped over a pile of open books near the door before reaching back to shut it. He scanned the room, finding his brother slumped against one of the far walls near his bed. It was odd and extremely rare to see him without his signature makeup and hairdo, but here he was. He sat in just a silk robe and a pair of boxers; a set Marco immediately recognized as belonging to Thatch. He’d gotten them as a gag gift for his birthday years ago, and of course he loved them anyway. 

“Izo,” Marco began, taking another slow step towards him. “We haven’t seen you all day…” he swallowed hard, finally reaching him and slowly moving to sit beside him on the floor. 

“What’s the point of leaving?” Izo croaked, not moving his eyes from where they were burning a hole through his wall. “He’s gone, Marco. And the crew…” he paused for a moment, struggling to keep his composure. “They’re just going to try and help. And they...they won’t understand.” 

The blonde nodded, looking down at the floor as he listened to him speak. It was true. He knew how the crew members were, and while their hearts were in the right place, it would be overwhelming to have so many people try and comfort you at the same time. 

“He wanted to take a walk.” Izo’s voice shook, his hands clenched into fists stop his pale thighs. “He wasn’t tired yet, he wanted...h-he wanted me to go with him. I...I said no, I-I went back to sleep…” he brought his eyes up, looking to Marco and his heart broke. Izo’s eyes were so full of sorrow, grief, and worst of all, _ guilt. _

“If I had just gone with him,” He wailed, mouth falling open as a sob was pulled from somewhere deep in his chest. Tears cascaded down his cheeks, raven hair falling in waves in front of his face, as if it could hide the pain. “M-Marco if I had— had just gone with him! If he hadn’t been— been alone, maybe Teach would have left h-him! I could ha-have stopped it!” He pressed his fists against his eyes, shoulders shaking almost violently with his cries. 

Marco moved quickly, wrapping his arms around the younger commander and gathering his body close. He threaded his fingers in his hair, gently running them through and pulling it away from his face. “Oh Izo….No, please...don’t blame yourself for this. There’s nothing you could have done, Teach would have...would have found another time, another way, to get what he wanted. If you had been there…” he swallowed hard, “He very well could have killed you too.” 

He hoped his words sounded better than they felt. He hoped his voice didn’t shake as much as he thought it did. He had tried so hard not to cry all day; but knowing how much Izo had loved the other man, how much love that was held between them. Thatch spent hours gushing about his boyfriend, especially in the kitchen, to the point the other cooks knew Izo almost better than anyone. 

The fourth division was intimately familiar with Izo, the same way the sixteenth division was with Thatch. 

Marco wasn’t sure if there were any other words that could help him. He simply sat and held him, gently rocked back and forth and rubbed circles against his back, his palms warm, blue flames of healing and comfort pressing into his skin. He let Izo cry, he let him sob and wail and simply _ feel _.

He let the man cry about the plans they’d made, from simple things such as a promised picnic on the next island, to more meaningful goals, such as maybe, just _ maybe, _they’d marry. A merging of the fourth and sixteenth divisions, it would be the party of a lifetime on the deck of the Moby Dick.

But it would never happen. 

Izo clenched his fists on Marco’s shirt, gripping it with what strength he had as his face stayed plastered against his neck, tears and snot alike making a mess against his skin. Marco wasn’t sure he’d ever heard such a heart wrenching sound, and he never wanted to hear anything like it again. 

* * *

Hours passed before the blonde finally exited Izo’s bedroom, shutting the bedroom door and leaning back against it with a heavy sigh. He’d stayed to help clean up, if only a little after the other man finally cried himself into a deep slumber. Marco would send people to check on him intermittently throughout the night to be sure he was okay. For now, he needed to get some sleep himself...he’d been comforting crew members all day, and for once he needed to think about himself. 

He barely made it one step before a set of freckled arms were thrown around him and he stumbled back in shock, eyes widening. 

“Ace,” he sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “You scared me…” he looked down into his boyfriend’s face, seeing the pain and heartbreak settled in his deep brown eyes. Marco understood right away, wrapping his arms around the younger’s body. Ace didn't want to be alone.

“Do you want to come sleep in my bed?” He asked, patting his back gently. He felt Ace nod against his chest, hands fisted in the purple fabric of Marco’s shirt. 

Marco reached down, gently picking the man up bridal style and heading back down the hall towards his own bedroom. He used his foot to push open the door, then again to close it once inside, setting Ace down. 

They were silent as they undressed, barely even looking at each other before they slipped under the covers of Marco’s bed. Ace curled up against the older man’s chest, slipping a leg between his thighs and trying to get as close to the blonde as possible. He needed it, he needed to feel him. 

Marco wrapped his arms around him, keeping him tight in a protective embrace, nose pressed against his rumpled hair. Tomorrow wasn’t promised, not even for Marco, not even for a Phoenix. They truly never knew when one of them was going to disappear. 

Marco just hoped he’d have enough time to make sure Ace knew how loved he was before he left him. 


	2. Chapter 2

“We don’t have to do this if you aren’t ready.” 

Marco’s voice was soft, about as soft as the hand resting on his lower back. His fingers just barely caressed the fabric of his kimono but he could feel it; it was a comforting presence. One that he needed. 

“It’s not going to be any easier later on...and someone else will take his position eventually.” Having a new fourth division commander wasn’t something he ever wanted to think about; he wasn’t sure anyone would ever allow someone to take his place. 

Izo reached up then, running his fingers along the nameplate of the locker door. He wondered if he could pry it off to keep with him. He wasn’t sure what he would do with it, but...maybe just having it on his desk would be enough. 

He turned his gaze over to Marco, chewing softly on his lower lip and silently asking for some kind of support. He didn’t know what he could give him, he just needed some kind of sign that it was going to be okay. 

“Take your time,” the blonde somehow always knew what to say, igniting the tips of his fingers with cool, healing flames that licked at Izo’s back and reminded him he wasn’t alone in this. “There’s no time limit here.” 

Izo nodded, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear. He’d opted for a simple bun today; he hadn’t had the energy for his usually intricate hairstyle since the funeral. His face was bare as well; he didn’t want to waste makeup when he knew he’d just cry it off. He reached over, slowly taking the little brass key that sat in the palm of his friend’s hand. He stared at it for a few long moments before finding the courage to slide it into the lock. 

It took another few moments of courage to turn it and remove the lock altogether. 

It took what felt like forever to finally open the locker itself. 

The two men stared at the contents in silence, Marco’s hand continuing to be a comforting presence on his back. Neither of them knew what to do or say. Thatch hated it when people messed with his things, he always kept it locked to prevent theft, or even worse, pranks. 

Izo finally reached out, letting his fingers rest gently on the fabric of his shirt, folded neatly at the bottom in case of emergencies. Food spills were common in the kitchen, but in case something happened that required a change of clothes, he was always prepared. 

“Look,” he managed a small smile as he picked up the yellow foulard that rested on top of his clothes. He ran his thumb along the fabric, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. “This one was his favorite, you know.” 

Marco leaned in a bit, eyeing the scarf with a nearly unreadable expression. “Yeah?” His voice was soft, allowing the man to continue if he wanted to. 

“Yeah,” Izo chuckled softly, trying to hide the way he followed it up with a sniff. “I embroidered his name on it, see? Right there.” He held it up, showing him where the name Thatch had been sewn onto it. “He ripped it one day, and while I was fixing it...I offered to put his name on it. You know, in case it got lost. It was a joke, really…” he sighed, holding the item close to his chest. “But he got so excited that I had to do it anyway.” 

The blonde smiled, nodding. “That’s kind of adorable...in a dorky way.” 

Izo wanted to remind him that Thatch was exactly that; adorable in the most dorky way possible, but he couldn’t find his voice anymore. He simply nodded, wrapping the foulard around his wrist for safe keeping. 

Going through the remainder of the locker was fairly simple; he kept it rather clean, with just a few cookbooks and magazines accompanying his clothes. Marco had offered to carry it all, and Izo was incredibly grateful, feeling like he would start sobbing at any moment as he piled the items into his brother’s arms. It wasn’t until the end, when he picked up what looked to be another cookbook, that his tears really started to flow. 

It was a thick, leather bound notebook. The words ‘my cookbook’ were scrawled across the front in a Thatch’s instantly recognizable handwriting. Izo pulled in a deep breath to steady himself before beginning to flip through. Inside were handwritten recipes; each one created and mastered by Thatch himself. The man recognized quite a few of them, although they were hard to read through the tears blurring his vision. 

He didn’t think anything else about the book could get any sadder, until he began to notice they certain recipes were marked with little pink bookmarks. 

He tried to tell himself that the bookmarks didn’t mean anything. 

That they didn’t have Izo’s name written in the best font the man could manage. 

He tried so hard to ignore the fact that the man had not only created a book of his own recipes, but had then gone through and bookmarked the ones Izo enjoyed the most. 

It was enough to wrench a sob out of him, and he wrapped his arms tightly around it, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Marco’s awaiting shoulder. His own shoulders shook with each sob, tears streaming down his cheeks and soaking the purple fabric of Marco’s shirt. 

“Fuck,” he managed to stutter out, his voice hoarse. He sniffled and pulled back after a few minutes, trying to regain his composure. The locker was empty, the painful part was over. He turned, reaching out to finally shut it when something caught his eye. “Oh  _ fuck…” _

Izo slid his fingers up along the cool metal of the door until they finally reached the photo that had been carefully taped to the inside. It was a photo of him. Specifically, it was a candid shot of him sitting at the vanity in his bedroom. He had turned to face him, a wide grin stretched across his cheeks, arms up high and fingers tangled in his dark locks as he went about getting ready for the day. Izo knew exactly when it was taken; remembered the man messing around with the visual transponder snail that day. It was a rather cute photo. He sniffed, the revelation tumbling around inside his brain. 

Thatch had kept a photo of him inside of his locker, where he could see it every day. 

There was even a worn down corner where he could tell the man had rubbed it often; for comfort or luck, he wondered, and he wished he could ask him. He wished that he could go back and thank him for keeping it in such an important place. 

He wished he could go back and tell the man he loved him one last time. 

With a small, pained sigh, he gently removed the photo from the inside of the door before shutting the locker gently. Suddenly it was over, the locker was empty and his belongings were now out in the open. He didn’t like it. 

“I’ll take his things,” Izo reached out as he spoke, scooping up the pile from Marco’s arms. “I’ll be in my room, if you need me.” 

Marco nodded, eyes half lidded. He knew the man would come to him if he needed anything, and it was best to just leave him be and let him grieve however he felt was necessary. 

“Alright.” 

* * *

A few days had passed since the locker clean out, and Izo was starting to feel like he could leave his room again. 

Vista had successfully pried the nameplate off the locker without harm to either item, and presented it to Izo with a solemn expression. He gratefully accepted it, and returned the gesture with a sincere hug. 

Izo had gifted the man’s cookbooks to the fourth division where they belonged. It was no use keeping them where no one would use them. There was one, however, he kept for himself. The personal cookbook stayed on his own shelf, safe and sound. 

He let a sigh escape his lips as he sat down at his vanity, glancing at the photo he’d attached to the mirror. It brought a warmth to his chest, one he hadn't quite felt since his death, to see it and remember how much joy it probably brought to the other man every day. 

The only other item he’d held onto was the yellow foulard. He couldn’t give it up; no matter how hard he tried. It just felt too much like Thatch. Too much like  _ home _ . 

He gently took hold of it, reaching up and beginning to collect his hair for a bun. This time, instead of a hair clip or a silk ribbon, he tied it together with the foulard. Glancing in the mirror he could see the little yellow bow and finally, he smiled, nodding to himself. 

“See,” he started, his voice soft and quivering only slightly. “You’re still here, love.” 

“You’re still here with me.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry.


End file.
